


Pas de Deux

by pastandfuturequeen



Series: 15 Days of FinnPoe [8]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: 15 Days of FinnPoe, M/M, Modern AU, dancers au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 10:09:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13144437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pastandfuturequeen/pseuds/pastandfuturequeen
Summary: The curtain settles heavily across the stage, official and regal in its presentation. Finn stands on the wing of the stage and listens to the murmur of conversation from the audience, the sounds of people settling into their seats and chatting excitedly amongst themselves in a calm thrum. On the other side of the curtain is a wild rush of activity, dancers and stage hands alike rushing to make sure all things were in place. Nerves crash and thunder beneath their skin, silent if not for the careful whisper of feet sliding across the floor.He takes another breath and straightens his posture. The curtain rises, flooding the stage with blindingly bright light. The orchestra begins it’s tune and Finn steps out onto the stage.Or, alternatively - Finn is a professional ballerina. Poe is a stage hand. They fall in love.15 Days of FinnPoe: Day 9





	Pas de Deux

**Author's Note:**

> A million thank-you's to my beta and soulmate J. I couldn't have posted the fic without her <3
> 
> -
> 
> _On the ninth day of FinnPoe, my true love gave to me . . . nine couples dancing!_
> 
> [[Also Posted on Tumblr]](https://pastandfuturequeen.tumblr.com/post/168931805010/15-days-of-finnpoe-day-9)

The curtain settles heavily across the stage, official and regal in its presentation. Finn stands on the wing of the stage and listens to the murmur of conversation from the audience, the sounds of people settling into their seats and chatting excitedly amongst themselves in a calm thrum. On the other side of the curtain is a wild rush of activity, dancers and stage hands alike rushing to make sure all things were in place. Nerves crash and thunder beneath their skin, silent if not for the careful whisper of feet sliding across the floor.

Finn runs a hand over his costume and rolls his ankles one more time, the nerves of opening night humming just beneath his skin. The sounds of the orchestra below tuning their instruments falls deaf on his ears as he waits quietly for time to tick away. He takes several deep breaths, calming himself. There’s a stagehand that appears by his side, marked by the all-black attire and headset in contrast to the glitter and extravagance of the performers around them. The stagehand claps Finn briefly on the shoulder, noticing his nerves. “You’re gonna be fine,” he says, shooting Finn a smile. Finn has no chance to reply as the orchestra quiets and then roars to life, drawing his attention away and to the stage. When Finn turns back to the wing, the stage hand is gone.

He takes another breath and straightens his posture. The curtain rises, flooding the stage with blindingly bright light. The orchestra begins it’s tune and Finn steps out onto the stage.

The start of the performance is simple enough, with a quiet establishment in fourth position. Finn turns and twists to the music, his muscles relaxed and stretching in time with the familiar routine. Other dancers turn with him, the spaces between them all controlled and practiced. Finn settles into the routine, letting his mind focus on the strain of his muscles and the movement of his body. The music swells and settles, and the majority of the ballet dancers turn away and towards the wings, but Finn remains on the stage. He moves to the front, footsteps careful and stage lights hot on his body. The crowd fades away, and he leaps in time with the music, muscles straining with the effort and sweat appearing on his brow, but his face shows no sign of distress, his whole body an expression of movement and emotion. His steps are light, movements careful and purposeful. His fingers stretch upwards towards the sky, yearning as far as he can reach. There is a delicacy to his movements, softness and light and the kiss of morning dew. As he performs in front of the crowd, all thoughts of the friendly stage hand immediately fall from his mind. 

-

The ballet season continues as most do. Performances occur three nights a week, Friday through Saturday with the occasional performance on Monday. As a soloist in the ballet company and performing a total of eleven shows during this six-week season, Finn attends rehearsals six days of the week with only one day of rest. About two weeks in, Finn feels his body begin to ache and tire.

Finn arrives early that Friday night and goes to work preparing himself for the performance later that night. There is only one other ballet dancer this early, one of the principals. She was a relatively new addition to the company, talented but very young. Finn smiles at her on his way to the dressing rooms, bag slewn over his shoulder.

The stage makeup is greasy and a hassle to put on. Finn takes some extra time in applying it with his non-dominant hand, trying to keep the strain off his shoulder. The eyeliner in particular takes some time and Finn groans, making a quick note to self that he needs a proper bath to speed up the healing process. 

A familiar face shows up on the mirror, drawing his attention away for a moment. “Need help with that?” Finn turns to the man. He offers a kind smile and gestures towards his own face. “I’ve spent enough time around ballet dancers to know the drill for stage makeup. I’ve got a bit of time, if you want?”

Finn blows a breath. “Actually, yeah that’d be nice,” he admits with a smile.

The man smiles kindly as he turns a seat and settles down to face Finn, who hands him the eyeliner with some relief. Finn closes his eyes. The man’s touch is light, one hand delicately cradling Finn’s face while the other carefully runs the eyeliner across Finn’s eyelids in quick, efficient strokes. “What’s your name by the way?” the man asks.

“Finn,” he replies. The man’s hands are pleasantly warm. “What’s yours?”

“Poe,” he replies, breath only barely brushing against Finn’s face. “Poe Dameron.” When Finn opens his eyes again he sees Poe smiling at him, a stray black curl brushing against his face. Finn’s eyes widen in recognition. “You’re the stage hand from opening night,” he says.

Poe nods, his mouth twisted into an amused smile as he sets the eyeliner down on the counter. “Yes, and you’re the nervous soloist in the wings - you did amazing, by the way.” 

Finn’s face warms with the compliment. “Thank you,” he says, for both the compliment and the makeup.

“Anytime,” Poe replies, a curious look on his face. It disappears before Finn can truly analyze it. “How’d you hurt your arm though?”

“Is it that obvious?” Finn says, only slightly worried.

Poe shakes his head. “Not really. More of a guess on my part.”

Finn blows a breath. “I was at rehearsal earlier and caught my dance partner from a bad fall,” he explains.

Poe’s brow furrows in sympathy and worry. “Are you going to be able to dance?”

“Yes,” Finn replies immediately. “Just gotta get through tonight’s performance before rest day tomorrow.”

“Alright,” Poe says, clapping his hands on his thighs and rising from the seat. “Take care of yourself, Finn.”

“You, too, Poe.”

-

The music swells across the theatre with the power of a crashing wave - the sharpness of the violin followed by the deep undertones of a cello and the crash of a cymbal. Finn is caught in the middle of it all, his movements all power and lighting striking the earth. His movements are sharp, the muscles of his shoulder straining but he doesn’t care, he can’t care. He leaps and twirls, sweat heavy on his brow and across his back, and his movements grow faster with the tempo of the orchestra. The music and his body reach a marvelous crescendo, tension mounting higher and higher until the shriek of the violin draws both him and the music to a screeching halt.

Finn holds his last position, blood rushing beneath his skin and heart beating wildly in his chest. There is silence. At last the crowd releases its breath, and applause rings loudly in Finn’s ears.

-

The majority of the ballet dancers are already gone home, riding off the last bit of adrenaline from their performance until they could fall into their beds and take a well-deserved rest. Finn is all too eager to join them. Finn is exhausted from that night’s performance, his movements slow as he strips off his costume and removes the awful stage makeup from his face. His shoulder still twinges some from the strain of that night’s performance and the day’s rehearsal and he reaches behind himself to massage the muscle before it strains. At last, Finn shrugs on his light hoodie and slings his bag over his shoulder, making his way towards the exit at the back of the theatre.

There is a man exiting through the back only a few steps ahead of him, a brown leather jacket over his shoulders. “Hold the door,” Finn says, hurrying the last few steps.

The man turns around and offers him an increasingly familiar smile. “Hello, Finn,” Poe says as he holds the door open. “We seem to keep bumping into each other.”

“We do,” Finn notes, returning the smile. “Are you headed home?”

“Actually, I’m going out to grab a quick drink with some of the other stage hands,” Poe replies, dragging his teeth over his bottom lip. “Want to join?” Finn’s gaze flickers momentarily to Poe’s bottom lip, and all previous thoughts escape him for a moment. Poe seems to mistake his silence for a refusal as he replies, “Unless a _premier danseur_ would rather do anything else than hang out with the rest of us common people.” The words are light, teasing, and soothed by the kind gaze Poe gives him.

Finn’s eyebrows quirk upwards and his face warms from something other than his exhaustion. “I’m no principal - but yeah, that sounds great.” The ice bath could wait a little while longer.

Poe’s whole face lights up, the corners of his eyes wrinkling. “Alright, we’re doing this.”

-

One quick drink turns into two, and two turned into three. Finn and Poe were accompanied by two other stage hands: a girl with warm black skin and short blonde hair named Kare, and a man with a thick brown beard and sharp wit named Snap. Kare was kind and welcoming, her gaze speaking of great intelligence and good humor. Poe, Kare, and Snap talked amongst each other with the ease of old friends, their laughter and gentle teasing drawing Finn in until at last he, too, felt like he had known them all for years. Poe was a comforting presence by his side, his words soft and gaze kind.

At last Finn looks at the clock and hums, realizing he has stayed up longer than intended. The others follow his gaze and Snap loudly groans, grumbling about the fact that he has work in the morning to set the stage for a matinee performance the next day. They all disband then, Kare and Snap heading off to where they had parked their car and bidding Finn and Poe goodbyes.

The sky is a spill of black ink when they step outside, and the chill night air is crisp against his warm skin and the warmth of the alcohol and the bar inside. Finn zips up his hoodie to fight off the chill, regretting his decision not to have brought a warmer jacket. He feels the gentle press of leather settling over his shoulders and turns around, his gaze on Poe.

Poe takes a half step back from Finn, wearing only a black long sleeved shirt to cover himself from the night air. Finn starts to shrug the jacket off, a quick excuse on his lips. Poe shakes his head, voice soft and assuring. “No, no, no, wear it. It’s not good to have your shoulders exposed to the chill.”

Finn raises his eyebrows. “Poe, you’re only wearing a shirt.”

“I run warm anyways,” Poe says with a quick smile. The sight of those warm brown eyes on him makes Finn’s knees weak and his chest warm with something other than the heat of the jacket or the alcohol in his stomach, too weak to make him drunk by any stretch of the imagination. “Come on, at least let me walk you to your car.”

“Alright.”

The two walk side by side in a comfortable silence, the parking lot next to the bar littered with only a handful of cars at that hour. At last they reach Finn’s car, parked next to Poe’s black camaro. They linger for a moment next to Finn’s door. Finn shuffles his feet for a moment, his earlier exhaustion escaping him as he turns to Poe. “I had a good time,” he says, face warm.

Poe’s answering smile is kind. “Yeah, I did too. We should grab a drink again, another time.”

“I’d like that.” Their gazes meet, brown against brown, and warm coils tight in Finn’s stomach, his breath stolen from his lungs. His skin is humming with sudden tension and he feels like when he’s dancing, overcome with something he can’t quite put a name to. Their bodies are only a handspan away, and Poe drags his teeth over his bottom lip again, drawing Finn’s attention to it. Finn swallows. “We should exchange numbers,” Finn says quietly, eyes flicking up to look at Poe. “To get that drink.”

Poe hums, the sound low and fluttering across Finn’s skin. “We should,” Poe replies. They exchange phones then, Finn focusing carefully to still his heart beat just in case Poe could hear it in the quiet of the night. They exchange their phones again and the skin of their hands brush together, lingering only a moment before they both pull away. Silence washes over them again, quiet and calm, and Finn isn’t sure whether he wants to break the silence or let the comfort of the moment drag on forever.

“Goodnight, Finn,” Poe says, voice quiet in the night.

It takes a moment for Finn to respond. When he does, his voice is equally as soft. “Goodnight, Poe.”

And with that Poe pulls away, taking the music under Finn’s skin and the pull of magnets with him. Finn gets into his car and drives away in a sort of daze, a gentle smile on his lips. It’s only as he enters his apartment and sets his bag down that he realizes he still has Poe’s jacket slung over his shoulders.

-

Two days, one long rehearsal, and several ice baths later, Finn is back at the performance hall. He wears Poe’s jacket, the brown leather very effective and keeping away the chill. It fits snugly around his frame, and Finn convinces himself that the reason he wears it is so that he doesn’t accidentally forget it at home before he can return it to Poe. This is what he tries to tell himself. He knows reasonably that he could always just text Poe and tell him about the jacket. But Finn’s schedule returns to it’s unforgivingly busy pace, and he settles on the fact that they will see each other again. His steps are light as he walks through the performance hall, eyes scanning for any sign of Poe. 

As Finn approaches the dressing room, he spots a bright red object out of the corner of his eye. The image sharpens as he steps closer. Atop the dressing room table is a rose with delicate, bright red petals. Atop the rose is a card, and as Finn looks over he sees his own name written atop the card in neat script. Finn’s heart thuds hard against his chest and his face warms. He picks up the card with careful fingers, blinking twice just to confirm it was his own name written on top. Yet no matter how hard he stares, the name remains the same. He turns the card over to find a message written in the same neat handwriting. The card reads: _Good luck out there, you’re going to be great!_ The card is left unsigned.

A smile blooms across Finn’s face, soft and bright and unwilling. He sits down heavily on the chair, picking up the rose by the stem. The thorns are clipped off the stem and Finn twirls it in his fingers pensively. His mind immediately turns to Poe, and his face warms even more at the thought. The card is left unsigned, so there is some change that it isn’t Poe. He knows this, logically speaking. And there is a chance that even if it is Poe, then the rose can be a simple bit of encouragement. He isn’t the only dancer to receive flowers on show nights. But hope still blooms in his chest, as vibrant as the rose in his hand.

-

That night’s performance ends without a hitch. Finn’s role in this particular production leans more towards the corps de ballet. Finn loves the dance all the same, loves the way his body can express so much feeling in time with the movement, the way his fellow dancers were all in tune with each other, a thing that can only be achieved through their many months of practice. 

He catches no sight of Poe in the wings either before or during the performance, though he does catch a glance of Snap, who waves at him encouragingly before Finn has to appear again on stage. The performance seems to stretch on at an unimaginably slow pace, and although Finn performs his role and loses himself in the music, he finds that any reprieve when he isn’t on stage to be a moment where his mind turns to Poe, his eyes trying to search for him from the darkness of the wings. To Finn’s dismay, there is no sign of Poe.

At last the performance ends in a whirl of fabric and glitter, and Finn is once more in the dressing room. He steps into his street shoes with a sigh, shrugging on the leather jacket. He takes out the handwritten card from his pocket and reads over it again, another smile appearing on his face. Finn runs a finger over the edge of the card before tucking it away again and reaching for the rose on the counter. When he steps out of the dressing room he looks around the theatre, searching for some sign of Poe. The other man is nowhere to be found.

Finn drives home in silence, thoughts immediately turning to Poe. When he arrives at his apartment, he retrieves a vase from the back of his cupboard and fills it with water. Finn places the rose in the water and places it in his room. He then turns to his phone, pressing a couple of select buttons and then hesitating. Poe’s contact information stares at him from his screen, teasing him. 

Finn breathes out a sigh and pulls up a message, typing quickly and hitting ‘send’ before he loses his nerve. He sets the phone down on his countertop for several moments, tension eating away at him. He breathes a quick sigh. It’s very likely that Poe is still working, or driving home, or a million other reasonable things to do on such a late hour. Finn rises from the bed and heads over to the bathroom, kicking the door shut behind him and starting a shower to wash away the night’s sweat and grime from his tired body.

When he returns from the bathroom, freshly showered and moisturized with soft pajamas and fuzzy purple socks on his feet, he sees that he has received a text. Finn feels his heart beat harder, and he heads towards the phone, quickly opening and scanning through the message. The exchange reads:

Finn: _Didn’t see you backstage tonight. I wanted to return your jacket - I ended up keeping it after drinks yesterday_

Poe: _Yeah, sorry buddy! They had me cover for someone on lights tonight. I should be back where I usually am by tomorrow_

Poe: _And keep the jacket, it suits you_

Finn’s face grows even warmer at the compliment, a feat even he didn’t think was possible. He settles into his covers with a smile on his lips and phone in his hand. He send another message, and the two end up talking well into the night.

-

Another rose and another card are on the counter the next night, addressed to him. The card is still unsigned. The rose joins its companion in the vase next to his bed. There’s another the next night, and then one every performance night afterwards.

-

“You’re being courted.”

Finn coughs at the bold statement, running a napkin over his mouth to hide the embarrassment on his face. “That’s a strong word,” he says in response.

Rose rolls her eyes good naturedly. “Look, what else do you call all the flowers, the late night texts, and that jacket you’ve refused to take off ever since you got it three weeks ago?”

“It’s a warm jacket,” Finn defends, taking a sip of his coffee. The diner is quiet this early in the morning, with a mostly ageing clientele save for Finn and Rose, who sit at their usual table in the back.

“And the flowers?” Rose teases. “They may not be full bouquets, but not even the principals get roses _every_ night.”

“You don’t know that, you’re not a ballerina,” Finn counters.

“Maybe so,” Rose acknowledges. “But this butch little mechanic has been friends with you for long enough to know enough to get me through backstage. My co-workers are convinced I’m the heiress of some rich family just from all the gossip I have on those fancy dancers and performances. And I know there’s no way Kristophe or whatever is getting more flowers than you.”

“Kristophe is an asshole though,” Finn says.

“The biggest one there is,” Rose agrees. “But we’re getting off topic. Anyways, you’re getting a bunch of roses each night. They’re definitely coming from Poe-loverboy-Dameron with the dreamy eyes.”

“There is a possibility that it’s not him sending them,” Finn says, electing to ignore the ‘dreamy eyes’ comment for another time.

“Did you ask him?”

Finn hesitates before answering. “No.”

“It’s definitely him,” Rose declares. She gestures at him with her fork, speaking around a bite of her breakfast omelette. “Come on, look at your face!”

“There’s nothing wrong with my face.”

“Exactly!” Rose says, triumphant. “You are a gorgeous man, a great dancer, and there’s no way a guy wouldn’t be interested in you.”

Finn laughs and takes a bite out of his own breakfast. “Careful,” he says, teasing. “More talk like that and your girlfriend might get a little worried.”

“She knows I love her too much for that,” Rose counters. Her lips quirk up a little at the statement, unable to hide the adoration she has for her lover. “But stop trying to distract me. You’ve only got another week left until the end of the season, right?”

Finn nods. “The final performance is next Sunday.”

“Then you need to hurry up and ask Poe on that date. Walking together to your cars, hanging out with a group of friends, or texting each other late into the night - no matter how romantic and adoring those texts might be - don’t count,” Rose says. “He’s probably worried about coming on too strong and wants you to make the first move. So shimmy your dancing toes and hips over to him and ask him out.”

Finn bursts out laughing at the mental image. “I don’t _shimmy!_ ”

Rose’s answering smile is wicked. “Well, you better start!”

-

It has been a couple of days since Finn’s last talk with Rose. The small woman’s words pop up in his mind constantly now as the days go by, interrupted only by rehearsals and the pleasant ache of his body. He still texts Poe frequently, their conversations spanning across everything under the sun, from work to films to camping and their childhoods. Finn feels his entire body light up at the thought of Poe’s kind eyes and soft laugh, the stubble permanently across the other man’s cheeks and the curls in his hair which looked unbelievably soft. But the show must go on, and he lets the performance ebb and flow over him and through him, lets the music guide him and his muscles.

There’s something different in his performance, Finn can feel it. His steps are lighter, and the orchestra’s music beats more closely to the tune of his heart, until he can practically feel the music envelop him in every fiber of his being. The aches and strain of his body leave him and he in enveloped, his whole body an extension of a note that flows into the other effortlessly as a stream through the woods, as if he dances across the sheet music itself.

When the performance is done, he is welcomed by thunderous applause.

He looks off into the wings and catches sight of Poe’s face. Poe’s whole face is slack in awe, alight with something Finn can’t quite identify, but he feels a familiar flutter in his stomach. Then he is whisked away by the music again, but the sight of Poe’s face is still in his mind.

-

After the performance is through, Finn feels a tap on his arm. He turns around, expecting the sight of Poe, only to see another familiar face in front of him. “Director Organa,” he says, pleasantly surprised at the sight of the ballet company director.

“Hello, Finn,” she says kindly. Even grown grey and wrinkled with age, she still carries the same grace and conviction of a storm.

“What brings you down to the soloists and corps dressing rooms?” Finn asks. “Are you looking for one of the principals?”

“No, I actually came looking for you. I was watching the performance tonight accompanied by an old friend, and we were very impressed with your performance tonight,” Director Organa says.

Finn feels himself warm with the praise. “Thank you, Director.”

“Please, call me Leia,” she says with a wave of her hand. She spots the rose on the counter and a small smile slips across her face, warm and as if with another layer of meaning Finn can’t quite discern. “You’ve done a wonderful performance this season. It’s been difficult to keep anybody’s eyes off you and the way you bring the music to life,” she pauses for a moment and looks at him, conviction in her gaze. “Finn, how would you feel about being a principal in the upcoming season?”

Finn feels the world around him shift, his heart beating loudly in his chest and air escaping his lungs. He swallows. “A principal,” he echoes, voice soft. Leia nods at him encouragingly. “Yes - yes!” Finn replies, finding his voice again. “Thank you so much, Director - Leia,” he corrects himself. 

Leia places a hand on his shoulder. “Congratulations, Finn. Step by my office on Monday, we can talk more and have a new contract ready to sign.”

She leaves then, and Finn is overcome with excitement in her wake. He leaves the dressing room with a new bounce in his step, his usual exhaustion replaced with pure exhilaration.

Poe spots him as Finn walks through the parking garage of the theatre, calling out his name. “Hey, buddy!” Poe says.

Finn turns around and feels himself melt at the sight of the other man, walking towards him with a huge smile on his face. He rushes at Poe and they crash against each other, Finn’s arms wrapped tightly around Poe. Poe returns the embrace with equal vigor, but pulls away a moment later with confusion across his features. Before Poe can say anything, Finn hears himself blurt out, “I just got promoted to principal.”

Poe’s whole face lights up at the news, awe and joy overcoming him. “That’s amazing, Finn!” They embrace again, bodies pressed close, and Finn’s heart is thumping wildly in his chest. When they part, Finn’s hands are resting against Poe’s chest, and Poe’s hands linger on his torso. Poe’s smile is infectious. “You did amazing tonight, Finn,” Poe says, voice quiet and full of pride. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

Finn feels his cheeks turn warm at the compliment, and he notices with sudden realization the closeness of their bodies. Poe’s heartbeat hums against Finn’s palm, Poe’s arms warm and protective around him, emitting heat like a furnace. Poe’s eyes travel across Finn’s face, wonder in his gaze until he lands on Finn’s eyes. Finn’s eyes flicker down to Poe’s mouth and back up again and he swallows, throat suddenly dry. Tension mounts between them, a slow build up extending from Finn’s toes all the way to his chest and face, his entire being one taut string.

Slowly, softly, Finn catches Poe’s lips in his own. Poe inhales deeply, sliding his hands more firmly around Finn’s torso and pulling him close. Their lips slide together, the tension between their bodies finally finding giddy release and meeting like two strings of violin, the notes lingering as if never wishing to part. In the end they do, leaving only a breath’s distance between them. Finn is smiling, his face aching with it, and Poe’s look is of pure adoration.

Poe clears his throat. “Guess the flowers worked, then?” he says with a slow grin.

“I hoped it was you, you sap,” Finn says. There’s no heat to his words, his face split too widely into a grin give any even if he tried.

Their lips meet again and they’re lost in each other, notes of violin surrounding them both.

**Author's Note:**

> **15 Days of FinnPoe Notes:**
> 
> Happy Holidays everyone! It's been a while.
> 
> So if y’all weren’t aware, I attempted to do a thing called 15 Days of FinnPoe, where I was going to release a fic once a day every day from December 1st to the 15th in honor of TLJ releasing in theatres. I unfortunately was not able to post further than Day 6 because I was studying in the library for finals and someone spilled literally their entire cup of piping hot coffee over my laptop. I hadn’t backed up any of the fics, so the rest of the fics, as well as a lot of other personal stuff like notes and some of my thesis work are gone. I was ridiculously busy talking to my professors and thesis advisors to rectify the situation, which is why the rest of the fics were not uploaded in time. Thankfully the kid who spilled the coffee was both able and willing to pay for my laptop to get fixed and I was given an extension over my finals, so that’s been good.
> 
> I've been working on some of the fics since then because I felt a little bad at having said I was going to publish so many fics and then falling back on that. Unfortunately I had written the fics over the course of several months the last time, which is why I haven't been able to complete them all within the past two weeks. But I was able to finish five. So I hope this makes up for it!
> 
> **General Notes:**
> 
> I am not, nor have I ever been a dancer lol. I mean the only experience I have with dancing are some poor attempts at salsa and bachata when I'm out with my friends but that is a million world's away from being a professional ballet dancer. The title is from a ballet term that just mean's a dance for two people. I know the rose thing is cheesy but Poe is literally the biggest, most romantic sap in the world who wants Finn to know how amazing he is. Let me live.
> 
> I'm pretty bad at tagging stuff, so does anybody have any ideas of how I can tag this so it's more accurate and detailed for people to find?
> 
> As always, thanks for reading, and feel free to leave kudos, comments, and criticism below!


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